


Pondered on a Sofa

by Fiorenza_a



Series: Dagenham & The Bay of Naples [1]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorenza_a/pseuds/Fiorenza_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie lazed full length on the sofa regarding his partner from under languid lashes. Doyle was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the box. He looked like an angel and Bodie pondered again the strange alchemy which had brought him to this moment and changed his irritating g*t of a partner into his irritating g*t of a lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pondered on a Sofa

Bodie lazed full length on the sofa regarding his partner from under languid lashes. Doyle was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the box, watching the match and eating cereal from a bowl balanced pedestal like in one hand. He looked like an angel. Albeit a scruffy angel with improbable hair and Bodie pondered again the strange alchemy which had brought him to this moment and changed his irritating git of a partner into his irritating git of a lover.

'Lover' the frustrated poet in Bodie liked that word, but the somewhat less than lyrical man Bodie had actually become liked 'partner' even more, because it said what mattered. Whatever the extremity. Whatever the need. He was not alone. It was a novel concept and not a little daunting. It was one thing looking after yourself, being answerable only to and for yourself. It was quite another to realise that you now had a responsibility to stay safe for someone else. It was kind of warming and nice, but mostly it was just bloody scary.

He loved Doyle, he knew that. He wasn't going to admit it, a bloke shouldn't do that, led to all sorts of unnecessary complications that did, but there was no doubt he loved the irritating little sod. He wasn't sure quite when that had happened. He only knew it came before fancying the soft git.

He had liked him of course, almost from the off. The stupid spikey sod had stuck his chin out and challenged Bodie on almost everything. Most blokes took one look at Bodie's quiet menace and thought twice. Doyle hadn't even thought once.

And he'd done something else too. Something almost nobody did. Something George Cowley had done. Looked past the muscles and blokey macho posturing and seen a brain. A keen intelligence and challenged that as well, as an equal, expecting as good as he gave. Bodie thought he probably liked that most of all. His intellectual ex-plod of a partner assumed the same quick wit in him and always had done, right from the start.

Liking the impulsive little runt had been easy, and by the time he had found Doyle bleeding on the floor with a hole in his chest the size of the Dartford Tunnel he knew he loved him. The way you loved your best mate. Needed his support. Knew he understood you, and even if he didn't, would just put up with you until you'd sorted yourself out.

No, the revelation had been in discovering he fancied the annoying little twit. To be fair it hadn't been his brain or his heart that had pointed this little nugget out to him. Another part of his anatomy altogether had announced this little gem.

At first he'd put it down to adrenalin, or some particularly ripe banter getting his wires crossed. But his wires had stayed crossed. Seemed pretty bloody determined not to be uncrossed and then Doyle had been shot.

His heart broke and his mind panicked and that other piece of his anatomy suddenly demanded full and frank recognition for its own feelings on the matter. He had been too confused and scared to be confused and scared, instead he'd clung onto the lifeline Cowley had thrown him. Getting the job done. Doing what Doyle would have done for himself if he'd been able, terrified he was doing the last thing he would ever do for the poor sod.

Then the poor sod hadn't died. Of course he hadn't. Bastard. Stirred him up good and proper and then not died. Typical. Just left him with all these feelings. Couldn't bury them with Doyle. Not an option. Annoying git hadn't died. Annoying git had lived. Looked like an angel. Toothy grin, scrawny body, daft hair and all. Scruffy stupid angel. But when he smiled it shattered his composure and turned his stomach inside out.

Nope, he had it bad and that weren't good.

At first hospital had been simple. Doyle awake for only a string of minutes at a time. Opening eyes the colour of winter seas to look at him and smile a weary version of that ridiculous toothy grin before falling asleep again. That had gone on for about a week. Then the periods awake had begun to lengthen and the periods asleep to shorten.

And still it had been simple. Turn up with some grapes, a bit of banter and something from the top shelf. Job done.

Then Doyle had begun to think about things. To talk about things. To think and talk about things Bodie wasn't at all comfortable with. Not football. Not women. Not work. Not even Cowley. No Raymond bloody Doyle wanted to mourn, not for himself. Oh no. That would have been too easy. Raymond bloody Doyle wanted to mourn for the tragic bint who'd shot him. See the futility and the utter waste of it.

That was just about as much as Bodie could take. Raymond bloody Doyle hadn't been the one who had found his partner pumping mind numbing quantities of precious blood onto the carpet. Raymond bloody Doyle hadn't been the one who'd been scared witless while he desperately tried to pack his wounds. And Raymond bloody Doyle hadn't been the one who'd had to make the gut wrenching decision to leave his partner dying on the floor so he could go and call it in. To get the insufferable git some help. To stop him dying.

Not that the insufferable git hadn't given dying a really good go anyway. Doyle was nothing if not conscientious. And now he wanted to feel all cut up and wistful about the dark eyed beauty who had aimed for his heart and all but shattered Bodie's.

Well it was too bloody much and one afternoon Bodie had told him so. In his own inimitable style. He'd got mad at the irresistible twerp, yelled at him, nearly punched him, until he remembered Doyle was still attached to hospital equipment, and stormed out.

Then he'd got drunk, nearly got into a fight, got bawled out by Cowley and gone home. Drunk some more. Fallen asleep in front of the box, still angry with the little sod, and woken up with an imperial sized hangover. Raymond bloody Doyle.

It had taken him a couple of days to calm down enough to go and see the scruffy git. No grapes, no glib patter, no dodgy reading material. He'd taken a self conscious bunch of flowers and an equally self conscious awareness that he didn't want to stuff this up. Doyle had given him a look that had seen straight through him. Then he had opened his arms as far as injury and tubing would allow and Bodie had simply gone into them. No Royal Philharmonic, no crashing waves, no undying declarations. Everything understood and accepted. All better now.

After a few weeks of coy visits Doyle had been discharged and they had just fallen naturally into staying at each other's flats. Well mostly at Doyle's. Doyle still having quite a bit of recuperation to do. 

Bodie had pottered round making sure he had enough to eat, enough to drink, was warm enough, comfortable enough, wasn't bored, wasn't in pain, didn't need anything else, until late one evening Doyle had exploded, blowing his stack as only he knew how to do. Histrionic in a very masculine kind of way.

It had cleared the air. And it had led to other things being said. Doyle pointing out that he wasn't made of bloody Dresden china and that if Bodie thought he was going to spend the rest of his days sitting like some Vestal virgin untouched on a pedestal he'd better think again sunshine.

Bodie hadn't thought that, things were more complicated than that, not to mention Bodie had never made love to anyone he had watched dying before, it had seemed crass even to think about it. Like a desecration somehow. He had tried to explain all this to his frustrated partner and had been met by a very crude suggestion as to just how, exactly, he might like to desecrate Doyle.

A very crude suggestion. He had been shocked, which had surprised him. He had been aroused, which hadn't. And then he had been kissed. Quite thoroughly and with malice aforethought. Well perhaps not malice, but definitely with wickedness aforethought. And then Doyle had dragged him off to bed in order to prove just how little like Dresden china he really was.

And that was how it had started. With Doyle pushing him onto the bed and pulling off his clothes. Without due care and attention. Irritating little sod might treat his clothes as if they were resting in his wardrobe between appearances at a WI jumble sale, but his were used to much more tender care. Apart from when he was wearing them of course, when they had an alarming tendency to get thrown about a bit. But that wasn't the point. Irritating little sod should know that. Irritating little sod was grinning at him licentiously. Irritating little sod did know that. Right. C'mere.

He hauled himself off the bed and wrestled Doyle boisterously out of his clothes. Then they just stood staring at each other, hearts pounding, like a couple of brides on their wedding night. Bloomin' ridiculous. And kind of exciting. Almost illicit. Like they shouldn't be doing this.

Well if they had any sense they probably wouldn't be. But the irresistible little sod did look like an angel. Paler than he should be and just back from the dead, but an angel none the less. Funny how he managed to look scruffy even out of his clothes.

Bodie took the angel face in his hands and kissed it gently. Tenderly. Trying to erase the memory of the witless terror that had threatened to overwhelm him the last time he'd had his hands on that mouth, panicked fingers checking the angel's airway. All that blood. Too much blood. Far too much. Nearly, oh so very nearly, all there was. He shut his eyes and nuzzled into the angel face as desperately as if it was for the last time and Doyle suddenly realised what his partner was seeing. Truly understanding for the first time.

''Not dead mate'' he said gently. ''Not china and not dead. It's OK, we don't have to do anything tonight, just come to bed. Plenty of time for the rest. I can wait. Just be with me tonight. Let me make it better.''

''Sorry'' mumbled Bodie and just that one word was enough for Doyle. His smug arrogant bastard of a partner never used it. Never thought he had to, unless he meant exactly the opposite. Sorry I nicked your parking space, sorry I ate your sarnie, drank your coffee, dumped you in it. Never meant. Always in jest. Until tonight. Until sorry I can't make love to you because I don't know how to stop seeing the blood. Why hadn't the daft sod said something? Made him understand instead of smothering him and wittering on about desecration.

''No need to be sorry, just come to bed. I'm not going anywhere'' Doyle soothed, stroking the dark hair and trying to get the daft sod to move. He was frozen to the spot. Probably didn't even realise it.

''Sorry'' mumbled Bodie again as if he hadn't heard a word. Doyle was beginning to think maybe he hadn't, lost somewhere in the blood. How had the silly sod got himself into this state? No wonder he'd lost it at the hospital.

Doyle reached a hand to either side of Bodie's face. Gently coercing him into meeting his eyes and said ''Come to bed Bodie. This was a bad idea. Too much too soon eh sunshine? I didn't understand. Just come to bed and everything will be alright. I'm not going anywhere mate. OK? Understand. Am I getting through?'' He rapped Bodie playfully on the forehead and found himself smiling up into heartbreakingly haunted eyes. Oh the daft bloody idiot. Why hadn't he simply said something instead of being so sodding Bodie?

Bodie just nodded dumbly and stood there. Doyle pulled at his arms and he moved, guided by Doyle until Doyle had him back on the bed and had crawled in after him. He pulled Bodie to him and held him, stroking gently at his hair and mumbling words of comfort that he was pretty sure Bodie wasn't hearing. Stupid daft bloody idiot. He wasn't worth whatever Bodie was doing to himself. No one was.

Why was it the whole sodding world thought he was the sensitive one and completely missed his poetry spouting, introverted, compassionate arrogant bastard of a partner? Well maybe the 'arrogant bastard' had something to do with it. And the smugness. But still. How come they missed it? He leant down and kissed the top of Bodie's head. ''Come on let's get you comfortable cherub, I think you need some sleep'' he said.

He eased Bodie further down into the bed, pulling at the covers, making sure Bodie was tucked in. Like a bloody mother hen. Things he did for the daft sod. How had the prospect of his first shag since getting shot turned into this? And with Bodie of all people. That had definitely been a turn up. Not to mention a turn on, he smirked wryly to himself. Funny how things turned out. Then he snuggled up to Bodie and whispered ''Still be here in the morning. Not going anywhere. Daft sod'' and kissed him goodnight lightly on the nose.

And so they slept, until morning and by the morning Bodie appeared to have recovered his composure.

Well he had if the hand playing Doyle's erection was anything to go by. Bodie's eyes twinkling mischievously barely an inch from his own. ''Just sit back and enjoy the ride'' said Bodie, arrogance and smugness personified.

So that was it then, long night of the soul over, thought Doyle and then it became difficult to think anything at all. Bloody sod was good at this. Very good. Breathtakingly, excruciatingly, exquisitely, oh Bloody Nora.....

When breathing became an option again Doyle turned happily dazed eyes in Bodie's direction and said ''If that's what you can do with a hand mate, I am bloody well going to stick around to see what you can do with the rest.''

''Just as long as you stick around'' said Bodie. Simple, serious, sincere.

You bastard, thought Doyle, you sodding bastard. Just when you'd got used to the piss taking and the infuriating ruddy arrogance and the self satisfied smugness the git pulls something like that out of the bag and loving him isn't an option any more. You just bloody well have to. No other choice.

Doyle reached out a hand, heading in a southerly direction, happy to reciprocate. More than happy to reciprocate. Curious to feel a part of Bodie that had been strictly off limits. Well there was an etiquette to these things, you couldn't just grab a bloke, no matter how tempted you had been. No matter how subtly you had studied and fantasised. Had tossed yourself off thinking about what lay beneath those cords.

Bodie caught his hand ''Not ready for that'' he said ''Still can't...just not ready yet.'' Then the capricious bastard got up and padded naked and semi erect out of the bedroom. Doyle stared after him, almost choking on indignation. Well you might not be ready sunshine, but that incipient tumescence you left with looked pretty up for it. You touch that before I do and I may have to kill you. I may kill you anyway. Serve you bloody right. Arrogant, smug...he stumbled to a frustrating halt. There really were no words sufficient to capture the true incandescent outrage one William Bodie could elicit in another human being. Bloody bastard.

Doyle lay back on the bed, closed his eyes and idly reached a hand in his own southerly direction. Playing with himself absently as he remembered Bodie's hands as they had massaged little cajoling circles, squeezed and released, alternating pressure, increasing the rhythm, firmly stroking, barely touching, holding him, working him, bringing him off with unfamiliar patterns. Even now, spent, the sensation only second hand, only imitated, only his own familiar fingers, he was responding. His body straining to regain the familiar hardness, the urgent desire for release, building on the memory of Bodie's touch.

Something startlingly warm and wet met his fingers and his eyes flew open. Bodie's mouth was suckling on them, his tongue moving between them and their immodest play thing. Darting little wet licks onto delicate skin. Trailing a languid path along partially aroused flesh. He shut his eyes losing himself in the delicious sensation, knowing his already used and still injured body couldn't respond in full but floating on the pleasure of it anyway. Cherishing even the sweet ache of mourning when Bodie stopped.

''Can't come mate'' he offered ''not so soon, not up to it, still too knackered, bloody wreck.''

''Beautiful wreck'' said Bodie shifting himself to lie along side him, snuggling into him, his fingers tracing with gentle reverence newly healed scar tissue. ''Don't ever do anything this bloody stupid again, never been so terrified in me life. Never want to be that scared again. Hear?''

''Hear'' said Doyle fondly, cradling Bodie in his arms. So that was it then, closest thing to 'I love you' he'd probably ever hear from the daft sod. And the only time Bodie ever said anything at all about him getting shot. Like he was afraid talking about it could summon disaster all over again. A soldier's superstition.

''Bloody starving'' said Bodie suddenly and shattered the spell ''come on let's get some grub'' and then he got up and went in search of some, naked and wilfully gorgeous. Not that the sod was aware of it.

Sodding Bodie, thought Doyle, never do for things to get too emotional would it? Might run away with the idea you cared. Then where would we be, in a relationship, that's where you phobic bastard and then you really would be bloody scared.

Doyle got out of bed himself. It was taking a little longer these days, getting better every day, but not quite there yet. His skin may have healed but the internal damage was still working on it. Knitting itself back together. He still had outpatient appointments, tortuous things the worst of which was watching Bodie all calm and affable on the outside and climbing the walls on the inside.

He had suggested to the daft pillock that he was a big boy now, had a job with CI5 and everything, could probably manage on his own. Not as if they were a bunch of wannabe terrorists wielding nuclear Armageddon, just the NHS in all its institutional glory, its only weapon of terror the tea. But the daft pillock wouldn't hear of it. Put himself through it every time, unwittingly revealing just what Doyle had done to the sorry sod by getting himself shot. The pillock really didn't need to say he loved you when he was this transparent. Hadn't expected it to affect the bedroom though. Maybe he needed to be a bit more firm about that.

At least he needed Bodie to be a bit more firm about it. He almost giggled, stoppit Doyle, you're not a bloody school girl he told himself sternly, but he was chuckling none the less when he got to the kitchen. Bodie had made sandwiches. Well Bodie had trapped some cheese and pickle in some bread and was calling it sandwiches.

''What's so funny mate?'' he asked with his mouth full and taking a swig from the bottle of milk on the table.

''You need to be a bit firmer'' said Doyle, losing it on the last word and dissolving into giggles. Very manly, not at all schoolgirlish, giggles.

Bodie put down the milk bottle, cocked one eyebrow and said ''You taking a pop mate?'' He didn't sound very amused, not threatening exactly, but not very amused.

''You'' said Doyle, emphasising his point with one of Bodie's jerry built sandwiches ''need to be a bit firmer. And I believe I can help with that. Public service mate. Happy to oblige.''

''I told you'' said Bodie in a low rumble ''not ready yet.''

''You looked bloody ready'' said Doyle, suddenly sobering. What was wrong with the rotten sod?

''Leave it Ray'' said Bodie sharply and got up unexpectedly, taking his sandwich and the milk with him. He went and settled himself on the sofa. Adonis naked, with a cheese sandwich and the hump. Except what was the point of an Adonis if you couldn't touch the stroppy bastard?

Doyle decided on another tack, taking his own sandwich and sitting on the floor at the foot of the sofa. That had taken a bit of effort too. Core muscles sorely tried.

''What d'you think you're doing you bloody idiot?'' exploded Bodie before he'd even had a chance to try his new approach. Bodie was up on his feet leaning over him and hauling him off the floor, which was awe inspiringly painful in comparison to how sitting down had been. Bodie not thinking to allow him to brace his own body weight, move at his own pace or favour tender muscles. Mad at Bodie and despite himself, he was wincing. Bloody hell it was painful. More than he wanted to admit. ''Sodding hell Ray, I'm sorry'' said Bodie easing him down onto the sofa ''Didn't think. Bloody hurt you haven't I?''

Defeated, Doyle just nodded miserably. What was the point? Bodie wins again. His bloody body had let him down again. Had let him down when it turned out not to be as indestructible as he had previously assumed, had let him down when he'd had to endure the million little humiliations of hospital care, had let him down when he had so wanted to come for Bodie's tongue, was letting him down right now when all he wanted to do was punch the infuriating bastard for being such a bloody virgin.

''This is why Ray'' Bodie was saying in his ear ''I can't let myself. If I forget I hurt you. Can't afford to be distracted and you are one hell of a bloody distraction mate.'' Bodie was nuzzling with his forehead against his hair ''Got no idea 'ave you? Can't take my eyes off you, can't bloody think straight half the time, look what one stupid bloody thoughtless...I'm sorry Ray, never meant to hurt you, never, never meant to hurt you.''

''Then bloody have me you daft sod'' said Doyle ''frustration's not good for me. Get all peculiar.''

Bodie looked at him with undisguised horror. ''Can't do that mate, not yet, not...you're all banged up inside. Bloody tear you apart.''

''I'm not that banged up inside'' said Doyle, not overly impressed with the way Bodie was looking at him as if he'd been stitched together by Frankenstein rather than the local NHS. ''You may be very impressed with what God gave you sunshine, but I'm telling you now it's not going to reach me chest.''

Bodie laughed, unoffended and clearly amused. ''I'll have you know I'm very well proportioned'' he said, pushing his hips forward to display said proportions to their best advantage.

''Please'' said Doyle ''I don't want to go on feeling like some kind of bloody charity case. I want to feel normal. Like I used to.''

That got another cocked eyebrow ''And what makes you think you were normal Sunny Jim? Bloody deranged if you ask me, always have been.''

''Please'' said Doyle. So it had come to this. Raymond bloody Doyle, pleading for sex from his bastard partner. No place left to sink, this had to be rock bottom. What was he thinking?

Bodie took his hand. Oh sodding hell, here it comes, the rejection. The 'it's not you'. Of course it's not sodding me, I'm not the one who's saving meself for me wedding night. Bloody virgin. Go on then, get it over with you bastard. Be all understanding while you twist the knife.

''We can't Ray'' said Bodie quietly ''I asked the Doctors. We can't, not 'til they give the all clear. Alright mate? I know it's frustrating.'' He stopped to give Doyle a wryly humorous grin. ''Bloody frustrating. But we have to be sensible. You aren't healed enough. Understand. We can't.''

He asked the Doctors? Doyle's mind reeled at the thought of Bodie. Of Bodie. Calming asking the doctors when he would be free to violate his partner with his unnatural passions. Probably put it like that too, Bolshie sod. Doyle suddenly felt tears in his eyes and rubbed them away fiercely with the back of his hand before they had time to put in an unmanly appearance on his face. Bodie stroking the cheek where they would have fallen with an infinite tenderness, as if he could make it all better by this one act alone.

''What did they say?'' Doyle asked ''How bloody ruined am I?''

''Not ruined, just healing mate'' said Bodie ''bullets did a lot of damage, messed you up inside. They had a hell of a job putting you back together. 'Nothing invasive' is how the Doctor put it, just to be on the safe side, not for a bit. Didn't you ask?''

''No I bloody didn't'' said Doyle ''and you wouldn't have either if they'd stuck as many things in you as they did in me. Didn't want to give them any bloody ideas.''

''I see'' said Bodie, and there was that stupid cocked eyebrow again ''But it's OK if I get ideas? Because I can get some very indecent ideas and I wouldn't want you getting all squeamish on me.''

''Fat chance'' said Doyle and then ''Don't think I want to be a bloody monk.''

''Don't have to be mate, 'nothing invasive' doesn't cover this now does it?'' said Bodie and he moved forward to kiss Doyle waving his tongue in the air like a thing demented. Clumsily pushing it home as soon as it found its target.

Doyle playfully pushed him off ''Daft sod. I think you'll find technically tongues is invasive'' he said.

Bodie looked suitably tragic for about two seconds and then said ''Oh well what they don't know won't hurt them'' and then he leaned back into the kiss with a much more serious urgency, definitely breaking any prohibitions against invasiveness and sending little shock waves of pleasure through Doyle. All the way through. Coming out in some intriguing places they were. Well one intriguing place actually. One intriguing place which was registering a full interest in the proceedings. Who knew how rejuvenating one dodgy cheese sandwich could be?

Course, thought Doyle, embarking on a little invasion of his own, be rude not to reciprocate, quid pro quo and all that, one hand washes the other. Only he didn't think that what Bodie was currently doing with his talented hand counted as washing. Nothing clean about it at all, bloody filthy. Dirty sod.

Bodie's hand was taking a skilful interest in everything it had found nestling between Doyle's thighs. Took a bit of an interest in the thighs too. Well the inner thighs. Dancing feather light touches on the sensitive skin, drawing achingly close to the erection between them but not touching, tracing a gentle torture up towards his hips and back down again. Tripping sensitive nerves, firing little sparks, but refusing to touch the one thing that was now weeping for release. Touching everything but that, deftly moving away when Doyle tried to push himself into the path of those teasing fingers.

''Bodie you bastard'' he groaned, as best he could with a mouthful of said bastard. He felt Bodie smile against his lips.

''Ready?'' asked Bodie similarly encumbered.

''Whatever you're going to do, sodding do it'' ordered Doyle, slightly hysterical from want.

Bodie moved out of his mouth, kissing a wet trail of devastation down his throat, between his nipples, along his ribcage, across his stomach, lower and lower and then stopping. Suddenly. Leaving him panting and covered in a minefield of drying saliva. His mind was rocking on its heels. His eyes closed. Too long in hospital he thought, too long having his body treated with diligently dispassionate care. No intent to arouse or caress, he was bloody desperate and he knew it. And so did his bastard partner. Oh my sweet...

His erection had been swallowed whole, in one searing swift engulfment Bodie had him all. And was moving. Blessedly. Wantonly. Working his tongue against him. Bloody hell, he'd missed this. Old sensation, new partner. Bloody best partner. Keeping this one.

Bodie pulled away leaving him wet and exposed to the air, firing little ripples of excitement through him. He reached out blindly to touch himself but Bodie pulled his hand away. He was gulping for breath. He wasn't fit enough for this. Bloody Doctors were probably right. Then the lightest of touches, at the head, just the tip of a tongue playing with the weeping hole, flicking over it with the deftness of a butterfly wing, then the tongue dug deep, excavating the tiny crater and left just as suddenly. No warning. No quarter. Back again, gone again. Finding other places to alight in the absences, indecently tormenting him until he was consumed with a driving desperate need.

Then he was swallowed again, Bodie moving with a knowing rhythm until he shoved at him with a panicky urgency and Bodie released him to come all over himself.

When he opened his eyes Bodie was looking insufferably smug. ''Not bad'' he said ''not for a first go, probably get better when I get to know all your perverted idiosyncrasies.''

''Not first go'' Doyle corrected, still breathless ''had a go before.''

''Doesn't count'' said Bodie ''you were as limp as a wet haddock. Couldn't do me best work.''

''Bastard'' said Doyle affably. ''What about you, have to do you sometime or you'll get all frustrated and wander off on me. Don't want you getting all unnecessary with the milkman do I?''

''Told you'' said Bodie, immoveable and flippant ''Can't trust meself, get lost in the passion I do. Very sensual being me.''

Then the stupid grin died on his face and he fixed Doyle with a gaze of almost frightening intensity and said ''I hurt you Ray. Never meant to hurt you. Always scared I might forget. Need to stay in control. I'm asking you, don't make me...not yet.'' The fear so suddenly revealed was painfully genuine, made raw by the ill considered consequence of lifting Doyle from the floor.

Still simplistically convinced the fear could be laid by laying Bodie, Doyle sent a deaf and insistent hand to nestle provocatively between his partner's legs, wreaking a gentle vengeance on the placid proportions Bodie had so shamelessly advertised, feeling the awakening response beneath the demanding caress of his fingers.

Stripped bare Bodie looked heavenward, his face distorted with inner torment, his body answering Doyle's subtle assault with a humiliatingly hardening betrayal. It wasn't what he wanted. He needed to stop it. Didn't know if he could. Didn't know if Doyle would listen. ''Please Ray, don't...you could make me...you know you could...but I don't want to...I want to stay in control. I need to know what I'm doing. Until you're stronger. Can't afford to get carried away. Need to be careful, mustn't forget...can't hurt you...not again'' he pleaded.

Oh you monumental idiot Ray, you stupid monumental idiot, this isn't helping, the sad sod's got himself convinced he'll hurt you if he lets go, you're just torturing the poor confused bastard, realised Doyle, reluctantly withdrawing his hand. Fingers protesting the loss. Sickeningly gripped for one searingly intense moment by the desire to force Bodie, make him whether he wanted to or not. Disturbingly aroused by it.

Couldn't do that, shouldn't even think it, can't hurt the beautiful sod. Sommat wrong with you mate if you get off on that. Had your hands on him once, will again. Just need to be patient. Give him time. ''Alright mate'' said Doyle ''I'm sorry. If you want to wait, we'll do it your way.''

Bodie brought his eyes down from the ceiling to look at him with an almost disbelieving gratitude, as if he'd never known what it was to be able to trust anyone this far before. Probably hadn't sad sod.

Didn't stop him saying ''Should have a shower sunbeam, you stink of come.'' Then he grabbed the remains of his sandwich and of Doyle's, added the bottle of milk and disappeared into the kitchen leaving Doyle's jaw hanging open behind him. Just when you thought the irredeemable bastard had a sensitive side.

He reappeared almost immediately looking uncharacteristically shy. Didn't even know the arrogant sod had shy in him thought Doyle. Bloody revelation that one. ''Course, you could have a bath instead'' he said. ''Could share it, you know save on hot water. What d'you think?''

''Can't reach me back yet'' said Doyle ''might be handy having an extra pair of hands.''

''Got a loofah'' said Bodie unexpectedly and they dissolved into a fit of giggles which lasted until Doyle's ribs started to protest. Bodie hovering over him until he was sure everything was alright.

Doyle had to concede that the bath was one of the moody sod's better ideas. Warmed his aching innards, relaxed him, comforted him. Bodie was sitting behind him and had pulled him back to lie on him. It was nice just sitting in the hot water, having Bodie hold him between his thighs with no licentious intent. Stroking his damp hair and nuzzling the back of his neck. Bodie's loofah was floating in the water in front of him. When had the daft sod picked that up? What did he think Doyle was going to do with it? He fished it out of the water. Freudianly phallic he decided, poor bloody sod's more up for it than he knows what to do with. Not that the stubborn bastard's going to give in to it any time soon. He squeezed Bodie's knee sympathetically and received an extra nuzzle in the nape of his neck in answer. He leaned right back, slipping down the bath a little, letting his head rest against Bodie's shoulder. ''Love you mate'' he said.

''Bloody good job too'' said Bodie ''don't just wrap me gob round anyone, not that kind of girl.''

''Twit'' said Doyle amiably. Can't expect the soulless git to say it back, probably break something trying. Soulless git did love him though. Bloody obvious. He picked up Bodie's arms and wrapped them round himself and felt Bodie's chin drop to sit on the top of his head. ''Should probably get out now, we'll get pickled.''

He felt Bodie's chin move against his head as he said ''Mmmm prune. Couldn't fancy that, all those wrinkles, might have to trade you in for something younger. A girl needs to keep on her toes if she's going to keep her man satisfied.'' Doyle elbowed him in the ribs, the effect considerably hampered by the inertia of the water. ''I like violence in my women'' continued Bodie ''shows spirit.''

''You keep that up sunshine and I'll show you spirit'' said Doyle.

''Promises, promises'' replied Bodie, dropping a kiss on the wet curls under his chin.

Doyle traced a finger along the inside of Bodie's thigh ''Could keep that promise right now, if you'd let me, be easier in the water, less likely...''

Bodie suddenly levered himself upright, water cascading off him like a domestic Poseidon. ''Give it a sodding rest Ray'' he said clambering angrily out of the bath, fishing for a towel to wrap round himself. ''What do you want me to say? I don't want to hurt you. How hard is that to understand? Can't you drag your thoughts above your waist just long enough to get that through your desperate one track mind? I've had enough of seeing you in pain. I watched you bloody die, isn't that enough? What the hell else do you want from me?'' He stopped suddenly and fell back against the wall, anger failing him. Then he looked Doyle directly in the eyes and said plaintively ''You bloody died Ray. You bloody died.'' Suddenly from nowhere a convulsive sob shook him and he slid in inconsolable misery to the floor, racked with tears.

Doyle was out of the bath instantly, pain ignored, squatting down by his partner. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What had he done? He knew Bodie, Bodie kept it all bottled up. The pent up agony of frustrated desire, the gut shredding fear, the unadmitable love, the beautiful pillock had turned himself inside out, was still turning himself inside out. He relied on Doyle to see what he couldn't say and Doyle had blown it. Spectacularly. Let the sad bastard down when he needed him most. So much for the sensitive caring Ray Doyle. Bloody joke that was. He'd have killed anyone else that had pushed Bodie this far, Bodie would have killed them. But he'd let Doyle flay him alive. Beautiful bloody pillock.

Doyle slid down beside him and just held him until the ragged tears subsided enough to get him to his feet. Doyle was naked and cold, muscles sore with neglect. No more than he bloody deserved. Get the beautiful pillock to bed before the beautiful pillock found a more self destructive way out of his misery.

Doyle guided Bodie to the bedroom and settled him into the bed. Pulling off the cold and still damp towel and pulling up the covers. Then he crawled in beside the chill body and hugged him.

''You're bloody freezing'' said Bodie a little unsteadily.

''Shut it sunbeam'' said Doyle automatically and wrapped closer round Bodie, waiting for the warmth to return. Which it did with surprising speed, but not before the conspiracy of emotion and pain had delivered them both into the land of Nod.

When Doyle awoke, hours later, well into the evening, Bodie was looking at him. He smiled when Doyle met his gaze and said ''Been watching you sleep, love watching you sleep. Used to do it on long stake outs. You look like an angel.''

''Daft sod'' said Doyle, but it sent a warm thrill of pleasure through him all the same.

Bodie ran gentle fingers through his hair and said very quietly ''I'm sorry, all got a bit much. Bloody stupid. Take no notice.''

Doyle smiled, Bodie was making up for lost time with that word. But the daft bugger shouldn't be the one apologising this time. ''My fault'' said Doyle. ''Didn't think, should've thought. My fault.''

Bodie nuzzled his forehead into Doyle's temple and said ''Can't stand seeing you hurt. Can't stand being the one to do it.''

''I know'' said Doyle. ''Read you like a bloody book, always known.''

''Make it up to you'' said Bodie and Doyle felt his partner's hand sliding downwards. He caught it before it got past his hips, bringing it up to kiss the fingers.

''No, if you can't, I can't'' he said. ''I've been a selfish sod, wait 'til we both can. 'Til we know it's safe.''

''This is safe Ray'' said Bodie ''Checked. Just let me stay in control, need to be sure I won't hurt you.''

''Know that, you soft sod. But until we both can, this'll be enough'' said Doyle snuggling into Bodie and holding him tight. ''No fun without you mate, no fun knowing you want to and can't.''

''Ray, it's OK, honest. It's my decision. Just want you to be happy'' said Bodie. ''Need that'' he added, nuzzling into Doyle's neck. His warm breath playing a gentle havoc with Doyle's senses.

''Am happy'' said Doyle. Bloody daft sod. They were both bloody daft sods. Happy sods. Lucky sods. Didn't bear thinking about, how close they'd come to never having this. Just a matter of centimetres and Bodie would have been on his own. Bastard would never have coped. And he knew it. That's what all this was about. He'd have gone off the deep end. Didn't think straight when he was hurt. Needed looking after. Needed Doyle. Cowley was the only other one who saw that. Macho prat had every other bugger fooled. He kissed Bodie and added ''Want to wait. Going to wait. No arguments.''

And the stubborn git had stuck to it mused Bodie from under his lashes, watching the recently desecrated angel from the sofa. Right up 'til this morning. Got the all clear yesterday, last outpatients. Probably should have asked sooner. Probably would have been OK sooner. Didn't matter. Worth the wait. Bloody knackered now.

Give the angel a bit of rest, let him watch the match, have his cereal, then get him out of those scruffy clothes and seconds out, round two. Not to mention rounds three, and four... Well got to go the distance haven't you? Matter of pride. Unsporting not to.

Doyle sat on the floor and grinned. Didn't have to be a mind reader to know what the exquisite bastard on the sofa behind him was thinking. Unleashed a monster. Insatiable sod.

END


End file.
